Lifeline
by Ween-E
Summary: FLANDUS. Daryl has been abused, tortured, and mistreated for the majority of his life, which pushed him to the brink of suicide. However, a young man comes along and saves him just as he was about to jump. He then offers Daryl friendship, happiness, and love- things that the latter was rarely given. Can the bond that the two share elevate to something more? ConnorxDaryl.
1. Amazing Grace

A/N: Oh hey everybody :) So this is a new story that I'm currently working on. I started this project during Spring Break on the car ride back from Upstate New York. It was when my mom and I had a little fight and I was in a bitter mood. So, I apologise in advance if the story is a bit depressing (but it gets happier, I promise.)

I'm planning on actually banging this one out. I'm not sure how long it will be, but it will contain a few chapters. There's a slight possibility that I will edit this later, but the chances are slim.

By the way,this is a Flandus fic. ;D

Rated T for now, but it will most likely elevate to an M as the story progresses.

I hope you enjoy! :)

**EDIT: Unfortunately, doesn't allow the use of the names of real people. So I have subbed in Daryl for Norman, and Connor for Sean. NO It will not follow their character stories (although it's going to be reaallly hard for me ;_;) I will not be giving Connor his Irish accent, nor Daryl his Southern. **

**So just think of it as an AU**

**EDIT 2: Implemented corrections made by my beta Thornangel :)**

* * *

Lifeline

Chapter 1: Amazing Grace

The cord that had anchored him down from floating off into insanity had snapped. For the past sixteen years of his life, he was able to withstand the physical and mental abuse from the wretch of a woman he was ashamed to call his mother. She had broken him, scarred him, done everything but kill him and he suffered through it all. He had lost it when he witnessed her mercilessly kick his pit-bull Shadow, his only friend from the start, down to his very last breath. Back when the abuse was only starting to get worse, he found release by running a blade through the surface of his wrist, relishing the pain that drifted his mind away from reality. He enjoyed seeing the sweet crimson life drain from his left arm, with it the bitter torture he had suffered throughout the years. He was purging the pain and suffering from his body. Some nights he thought about going all of the way and cutting himself loose from this hellish nightmare, digging the blade deep into the artery and watching the blood flow like a fountain from his arms. He never had the courage to do it. All of his attempts would end up in tears and sleepless nights.

This time, however, his mind was set. Forget all of these meaningless attempts. Forget all of the times he would be too scared to continue. If he was going to do it, then he would make sure that there was no way it would end in failure.

Thursday morning, just as the sun was making its appearance over the horizon, he had climbed out of bed and slipped on a heavy jacket and jeans with his combat leather boots. He didn't bother to brush his hair, as always, and skipped out on breakfast. He made sure to get it over with as soon as possible before even a spark of hesitation crossed his mind and ignited his sense of reason. He checked the room beside him to see if his mother was still asleep. She was. Draped over the queen-sized bed, tangled in thick, matted blankets and stained sheets, was a woman in her late 40s looking as if she had been knocked out cold by a heavyweight boxer the night before. The room reeked of cigarette smoke mixed with cheap, lavender perfume. The hint of light that impaled through the skylight had illuminated the cloud of dust that was currently floating around in confined area. In deep sleep, the woman snored loudly. Her shoulder length, frizzy brunette hair hung over her face like a messy curtain. She wore a silk, magenta robe with a periwinkle trim over nothing but a pair of worn out pajamas. In other words, she looked like a hooker that had a late night. Taking this as a goodbye, Norman raised a middle finger pointed in her direction and muttered a, "See you in hell, bitch" and walked out the front door.

The cold December air embraced him with welcoming arms as he set foot outside of the rundown apartment. He took in the crumbling stoop spattered with bird shit and gum from neighborhood kids, knowing that it was the last time that he was ever going to see it. After countless nights of being locked out of the house, he was able to pick out every detail of the haggard platform, down to the small hole that was a shelter for ants in the summertime. He remembered that he would always pretend that the stoop was a pirate ship when he was a little boy. It was the only moment in his life where he felt important. No one could push him around and order him on his own ship. A somber smile had spread across his rosy face as he reminisced.

As his crystal blue eyes scanned the near-empty sidewalks, he made his move and headed for the George Washington Bridge, making sure to go at a fast, New Yorker pace.

It was about 6:45 AM when he saw the rusty metal towers of the bridge. The sun was still in its dormant position, yet cast a gloomy glow over the buildings. There were a few cars crossing the bridge, though traffic was flowing so smoothly that no one would even care to notice him. From a stranger's point of view, Norman looked like someone out for a leisurely walk, with his dark hood over his head, his hands in his pockets. He could see his breath come out in long, foggy pants as he breathed in the winter air. A short glance at the water below left him to wonder: _Will the water be just as cold as this?_

He kept walking until he had found a gap in the suspension cables and the railings located around the middle of the bridge. _This oughta do. _With that, he slung a leg over the safety bar and hopped onto the concrete ledge. After steadying himself and holding onto the steel girder for support, his blood ran cold as he made the stupid mistake of looking down below.

Fuck was he high up. A giant case of vertigo had hit him as he looked at the dark blue waters lapping up against the base of the bridge. He could faintly make out the shape of a small fishing boat a few meters away, though it looked like an ant from his view. Suddenly, he couldn't find himself to stand up anymore and leaned into the girder. The blue orbs flicked over to the side, in hopes that it would help ease his knotted stomach. The cars on the busy roads were the size of yellow jackets. _Bad idea._

"Come on, Norman, just do it. It'll be over before you know it," he muttered quietly to himself, with a heart hammering away at his ribcage. Yet the teen didn't move as his eyes remained transfixed on the watery death below. It was only until he felt the blinding rays of the sun land on his entire body that he realized that he had been standing there for a while, with nothing in mind except how tall the bridge was.

"D'ya think it'll hurt?" A voice suddenly asked behind him.

Norman nearly jumped out of his skin as soon as he heard it and he turned around to face the stranger.

The boy was about his age, with blue eyes of a darker hue than his, and with spiky blond hair that emerged from a navy blue hoodie. He wore black sweatpants and running shoes and was now taking the white earphones from his ears. A friendly smile was spread across his unusually tan face as he cocked his head, patiently waiting for Norman to answer his question.

"Wh-what will?" replied the brunet, secretly hoping that the other boy didn't hear what he had said a few seconds before. In his mind, he was screaming: _Are you crazy? You nearly scared me half to death! Warn a guy next time before you start making conversation with them. _

"The water." The blond clarified, pointing for emphasis. "I read a lot about people jumping off bridges who survived. Not a lot made it, though. But the people who did said that the impact hurt like a bitch. Like, imagine getting into a car accident and crashing through the windshield. Only the pain is a hundred times worse. The windshield is like the water. Once you go through, it feels like a thousand knives cutting up your entire body. You can't breathe, you can't do anything. And then you drown. Pretty sad death, don't you think?"

Norman gulped, his moment of aggravation leaving him. That guy definitely heard him. His arms unconsciously moved behind him and wrapped around the girder. "I suppose so."

"Once you're in the water, all you can think about is how cold it is. Especially this time of year?" The boy shook his head, making a _tsk-tsk_ as he did so. "The cold will numb your brain and leave you paralysed. You'll go in a state of shock. Even if you did want to kick up, even if you did survive the fall, once you're in, you can never get out."

He hesitated. That's exactly what he wanted. No second thoughts. Just a clean suicide. "Won't the water numb the pain, though?"

"I guess, but I really don't want to stay and find out. You know if you jump, I'm gonna have to come after you." He had made his way so he was a few inches from Norman's back. He was peering over his shoulders, eyeing at the water.

Norman could see the stranger's breath from his peripheral vision. Once he had fully absorbed what the blond said, he did a double take and eyed the boy in surprise. "What? You're insane. How do you even know I'm gonna jump anyways?"

Shrugging, the boy replied, "I don't. But then again, most people usually don't go up and admire the river at 7:00 in the morning in the middle of winter. Nor do they sit at the edge of the bridge and hold onto the railing for dear life doing so. And I don't take you for some spastic tourist judging by your looks, so…"

He looked at his hands and stood in awe at how his knuckles looked bone white. He became aware of the pain that was radiating from them and loosened his grip. He coughed and avoided the blonde's gaze. The shock from seeing the water, and hearing the boy's reckless announcement had pushed the bitterness away from him. But now, the acrimonious remarks were returning. "What do you know? You don't know me. I'm not even sure why I'm talking to you. Just leave me the hell alone and mind your own goddamn business, ya preppy bitch."

The stranger sighed. "Oh, well now I can't. See, once you've said that, you got me involved. I can't leave you alone now. If you jump, I'll be responsible for you. Because I knew your intentions and I let you get away with them. By the way, I'm really not looking forward to jumping in that ice cold water." With that, he began to unzip his sweater and untie his shoes.

"Fuck you, man. If you jump, you'll kill yourself." Norman reasoned pitifully, though he could see that the stranger had meant every word.

"And you won't?"

"I don't want to be the reason you die."

"Then don't jump."

This left Norman speechless. Who is this guy, anyway? If he jumped, he'd be free, but he'd be a murderer. If he didn't…

"You don't know what I've gone through…" he whispered, but audible enough for the blond to hear. He thought back to the numerous lashings he had gotten from that damned belt if he did something that displeased his mother. He remembered countless nights of starvation because she had used their remaining money to buy booze and cigarettes, leaving him to fend for himself, stealing and scrounging up scraps of food from the trash and food vendors. All of the cuts and bruises he had endured when his mother came home a sloppy drunk. He blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. He didn't cry then and he wasn't going to cry now. Not in public. Especially not in front of this stranger.

"No, I don't. But I can't let someone just throw away their life just like that. I know things might not look so bright right now, but I promise, it'll get better. Now come on, take my hand." He extended his hand for Norman to grab.

"Who are you, Oprah? I don't need you preaching to me. Why don't you just forget everything you've seen and go back to whatever the hell you were doing?" He turned his head away from the boy and looked up and observed the now cloudy sky. Everything looked so gloomy, so lifeless and dull. A small breeze ran by, cupping his face in an icy kiss, making the ends of his dark hair float weightlessly and reach for the horizon.

"I can't and you know that. Just please, think about it for a little bit-"

"- I _have_ been thinking about it!" He snapped. "I _have_ thought about it. For a long time now. I just… I can't fucking take this anymore." Hearing the tremor in his voice had dented the small cage in his head which held sixteen years' worth of pent up frustration and anguish. He realized that his voice had cracked halfway through, yet he was too confused and preoccupied with his thoughts to give a damn.

"Everyone has their low points in life. Hell, I sure have had mine. You don't know what the future has in store for you. That's the beauty of life. You don't want to waste yours leaving people to wonder what could have been. What you could have grown up to be. You have so much to look forward to. You're still young. Please turn around."

The brunet was quiet, processing everything that the blond said. He seemed so sure of himself. He talked as if everything he had just said was going to happen. Finally, he muttered, "What makes you so sure?"

"I just know."

For some reason, the stranger's words had given him a glimmer of hope and momentary comfort. As if it had held veracity. For a moment, Norman had forgotten about all of his pain and trusted him. He had gotten up from the perch and reached for his hand. In a matter of seconds, he lost footing, overlooking the width of the ledge, and fell backwards.

_I'm gonna die. _The thought ran through his head and wrapped around his entire body, like a constricting vine.

Everything seemed to slow down. He saw the horrorstruck look of the stranger as he tried to grab a hold of Norman with one arm stretched out and fingers reaching desperately to grab a hold of his attire; he saw the faces of the people in the cars and was amazed at how calmed they look, probably dealing with problems of their own. Glimpses of his life appeared before him. To his surprise, they were happy moments- playing basketball with his father, learning how to ride a bike, celebrating his fifth birthday, getting his first kiss from Susie Bradshaw when he was in Kindergarten. He even remembered the moments he shared with his mother before his father passed away due to some unknown illness, before she had turned into a heartless bitch. Back when she had taken good care of him when he had a fever; when she had baked him cookies for his birthday so he could share it with his friends at school; when she read him bedtime stories because he couldn't fall sleep. All of them had appeared before him like an old film, as cliché as that sounds. Was this what people saw before they died?

A sudden realization caused a ripple in the roll of film that was playing: _He did not want to die_. Not yet. What the boy had said was right- there were a lot of things he could have done to escape the torture, though death was not one of them. He had made a mistake of coming to that bridge. That's not what his father would have wanted for him to do, or his mother, wherever her former self was buried underneath that heartless monster. That momentary panic dissipated as he was filled with blinding pain and the suppressed memories disappeared, only leaving him in isolated darkness.

* * *

A/N: SPOILER ALERT: DARYL DIES.

Hahahah! Just kidding :3 Feedback is much appreciated. I'll update once I get a review.


	2. How Sweet The Sound

**A/N: Once again, due to reasons, I had to change Norman and Sean's name into Daryl and Connor :| Please note that only their names have changed and not their characters. In other words, this ain't some: "YE LOOK LIKE MY BROTHER MURPH" fanfic.**

**Although I did mention Merle at one point. OTLL"" Anyways, READ ON YOUNG GRASSHOPPER! **

* * *

Chapter 2: How Sweet the Sound

_"Daryl! Daryl, my boy. C'mere and give me a hug."_

_ "Daddy!" He didn't care if he was in front of all of his peers. Daryl ran as fast as his little six-year-old legs could carry him. His platinum blonde hair parted from his eyes as he went against the autumn air, bright eyes affixed on the crouched figure that was his father, not daring to look away. The fast thumping of his Converse sneakers slowed as he closed the distance, though his breathing was the opposite. _

_ It was the end of school, and all of the kids were outside waiting for their parents to pick them up. Daryl usually took the school bus home, but today was special. Today was his sixth birthday, and his father had promised to take him to Times Square to ride the giant Ferris wheel inside Toys R' Us. _

_ "How was your day, sport?" asked a bearded man whose dark brown hair had patches of white, like frost on a cool winter morning. He tossed Daryl's little form over his shoulders as soon as the boy came within his reach. _

_ Daryl let out a yelp of joy and burst into fits of giggles, clinging on for dear life as his father ran around making airplane noises, earning chuckles from the parents and the teachers that were nearby. His closed his eyes as he imagined himself flying an actual airplane, feeling like a king as he sat six feet off the ground. His contagious laughter drew attention from his classmates and he earned admiring looks from most of them. _

_ "It was good, Dad!" he replied, burying his face into his father's hair and wrapping his small arms around his neck. "Everyone sung 'Happy Birthday' to me during lunch. Even Mrs. MacManus." _

_ "She better have! Otherwise, I would have had a serious talk with her. Now, let's see… we can check off 'Riding the Ferris Wheel' off your list once we get there. What else do you want for your birthday, sport?" _

_ "Nothing," Daryl mumbled, holding on tighter to his father, "Everything's perfect." _

Daryl had felt warmth all over his body, from his head all the way down to his feet. It was the kind of warmth that made him feel safe- made him feel protected. It was something that he hadn't felt in a long time- it was almost foreign to him. Death didn't seem so bad after all. After basking in this solitary moment of comfort for a few minutes longer, it was then he noticed the faint, deep murmurs.

The murmurs weren't coming from an object like a factory machine. It sounded like they were coming from a person, although what they were saying was unclear. It was as if someone had put a thick glass between him and the speaker. However, he could make out the tone which had a hint of sadness in them. He seemed to be pleading. _But for what?_

He focused on the sound. The voice sounded oddly familiar. Now where had he heard it before?

Then it all clicked like gears in a machine. It was the boy! Did he jump in after him? Surely he wasn't that much of an idiot. But why couldn't he see him? No matter which way Daryl tried to turn, he was surrounded by complete darkness.

_"Come on, man. Wake up," _echoed the voice in the spacious void.

_ Wake up? Why is he telling me to wake up? I'm bloody awake, you idiot. Where are you?_

_"Open your eyes, please."_

Open my…? Of course. He wasn't dead. He didn't die! Why else didn't he feel the water cut up his body? Why else didn't he feel the rushing coldness envelop him?

Daryl stirred, his eyes twitching, and then fluttering open. He opened them slowly, letting them adjust to the sudden brightness. He was in a fairly large and messy room. The walls were painted with a navy blue colour. A small closet was to his left, with the white door slightly ajar, letting the closet light pour out of the crevice. He noticed a large poster of a blonde model wearing nothing but a bikini taped to the back of the door. An alarming amount of clothes were cluttered around the white king-sized bed, which reminded Daryl of the messiness of his own room. Beside the closet was a Jiu-Jitsu uniform that seemed to be in very pristine condition, hung up with the black belt tied around it perfectly. He let his eyes admire the neatness of the uniform contrasting the chaos of the room, before wandering on. Directly across from him was the entrance of the door that pinned up a dartboard with a few darts sticking out from random areas of the platform. Beside that was a large shelf, filled to the brim with books. Squinting carefully, he could make out titles that included "Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu" and "Martial Arts." Amongst the books were trophies and medals that Daryl guessed were from various jiu-jitsu tournaments.

To his right was a small wooden desk with a lamp that illuminated about three quarters of the room, set underneath a large, shuttered window. A laptop sat in the middle of the desk, surrounded by a pile of notebooks and papers. Sitting beside him was the boy himself.

"Oh thank god you're awake!" he exclaimed, letting his tense figure relax against the rolling chair. "Are you alright?" The teen look absolutely disheveled- his short, spiky locks sticking out in various directions and over his forehead; he looked as if he had not slept in days, yet he still wore the same outfit he had on the last time he saw him.

"Y-yeah," Daryl sat up and immediately regretted his decision. His head hurt like someone had just hit him with a frying pan and throbbed relentlessly. "Oh fuck." His hand shot up to try and ease the pain that was reverberating through his skull, only to feel a large bandage wrapped around it. As soon as he not as much as brushed the bandage with his calloused fingers a sharp pain shot through the upper portion of his body. "Ah!"

"Whoa! Easy there Speedracer." The blond warned and pressed a hand firmly down on Daryl's shoulder, trying to get him to lie back down.

Daryl obeyed and sank into the pillow in a fluid motion, still drained even after waking up from what seemed to be a long nap. "Ugh. What the hell happened? My head feels like shit."

The blond giggled, relieved that his companion wasn't going to try act all tough and resist. "It's a funny story, really. When you fell off the ledge, I grabbed your hand, but the momentum was too much and you smacked your head against the concrete. I wouldn't touch my forehead, if I were you," he warned, just as Daryl was about to feel the bandage that was on his head once again. "I thought I was gonna lose you for a moment there. Thank god someone happened to see and give us a ride to the hospital."

Daryl's eyes suddenly went wide, the baby blues scintillating with alarm against the faint light. "What? You took me to the hospital? Are you fucking crazy? D-did they call my mom?"

The blond saw the panic that was apparent in his friend's face and gave him an assured smile to calm him down. "Well, I wasn't going to leave you unconscious by the bridge. Who knows what would have happened to you. Don't worry. My mom works there and she was able to fix you up in no time. She even gave us a ride back here and went back to work. Besides, how was I supposed to know who to call when I didn't even get your name?"

He let out a sigh of relief, wincing slightly as he felt a sharp stab of pain surge through his head. "Daryl."

"Pardon?"

"Daryl. My name is Daryl," he repeated, taking some time to finally to analyze the blonde.

One could tell that his hair used to be lighter, although age had tinted it to a darker shade. Small flecks of stubble grew on his jawline that made the darker-haired boy sulk with envy. His blue eyes were kind, and not a hint of malice swam in them. Although Daryl knew better than to let his guard down.

"Connor. Nice ta meet you, Daryl." He extended his hand for him to shake and broke out into a grin when the brunet complied.

Daryl shifted in the bed as he avoided the blonde's icy blue gaze. He could feel himself being studied, like a lab rat in an experiment. The cotton fabric felt nice against his fingers as he rubbed them together nervously. He wasn't used to being in this position. He wasn't used to people helping him so graciously. Usually, if he was involved in fights and ended up bloodied and bruised, he would flee from the scene and mend his wounds himself. Of course, the wounds sometimes ended up infected, but he was able to pull through it nonetheless.

"So you're not gonna ask, then? Aren't you curious?" Connor finally said, swiveling around with both arms wrapped around the back of his head, eyes dancing with amusement. Daryl could tell that he was still happy that they had formally introduced, though he was confused as to how that could bring such joy to a human being.

"About?"

"Your headaches?"

"Oh… well… what did your mom say that was wrong with me?" The question came out in a bitter monotone. Daryl could care less what happened to him. He just wanted to get away from this happy-go-lucky prep.

"Besides the fact that you tried to jump off a bridge?" When he saw that the brunet wasn't so pleased with the joke, Connor continued whilst clearing his throat, "Just a mild concussion. It's nothing to worry about. She recommended that you don't do any strenuous activities for a couple of days and rest up." He looked away and closed his mouth. He didn't want to mention all of the scars and bruises that covered up ninety percent of Daryl's body. He was thoroughly shocked to find them in places that can't be seen had the brunet been wearing clothes. A small thought appeared in Connor's head that made him refrain from asking any personal questions. His mom was surprised as well, yet he covered it up saying that Daryl was part of the boxing club at school.

Daryl nodded and unconsciously looked down. He noticed that he was wearing different clothes.

"I got my mom to do that, don't worry man," Connor said, noticing his slight discomfort, although he failed to include that he was in the room as well when she had removed his shirt and couldn't help himself when he looked. "She wanted you to be as comfortable as possible so she threw on some of my shit on you. Good thing we're basically the same size, otherwise you would be wearing a bathrobe right now."

When he saw that Daryl was quiet, he continued: "So, uh… I convinced my mom to let you stay here for as long as you like. She's completely fine with it. She's not home most of the time anyways, neither is my dad. He works overseas during this time of the year. He's got a business in Ireland that deals with real estate agencies. We've mostly got the apartment to ourselves. No one usually comes here except for the cleaning lady, but that's only on Wednesdays.

"Once you're fully rested, I'll show you to the guest room. It's right next door, so it's not a big move. Shit, I've been babbling on for a while. I didn't let you get the chance to say if you wanted to stay here or not." He turned his head to look at Daryl, who seemed to be taking this all in at once.

"It's pretty dumb of you to open up to a complete stranger, you know. Let alone take them into your home." he remarked, lifting one of his eyebrows with a scolding look mixed with a hint of fascination.

Connor shrugged unaffected by the scolding tone and replied, "I've been told that before. I guess I'm just a trusting person."

"Or gullible. You don't even know me. How are you positive that I won't attempt to kill you at night?"

"You can tell a lot about a person based on how they look. And besides," he relaxed into the chair, sending Daryl a confident smile, "I'd hear you groaning in agony from your concussion first before you can even so much as lay a finger on me. So, what say you?"

Daryl racked his brain for a snide remark, but it was too swollen to conjure any. "When you brought me to the hospital, what exactly did you tell your mom happened?" he asked, ignoring the blonde's earlier spiel. Something nipped at the back of his mind that told him that Connor wasn't dumb as he may appear to be; that he probably had seen the scars and the bruises, yet he was too polite to mention them. He felt the heat rush to his face in embarrassment. In some way, he felt violated; although he knew what they did was necessary.

"Huh? Oh, I told her that you were a friend of mine from school. Said that we were running together and you slipped on some ice and hit your head." He shrugged, looking unfazed by this. "Where do you go to school, anyways? Eleanor Roosevelt? I haven't seen you around."

"I don't." He muttered, studying his blunt fingernails, growing irritated by the subject.

"Go to Eleanor Roosevelt?"

"Go to school." His tone was laced with malice that screamed he didn't want to press on the topic any further. He had dropped out as soon as he could, which was the first day of Junior year. Before then, it had been a law that all kids under the age of 16 had to attend school. Daryl wasn't the type of person that people would consider "outgoing" or "friendly." Although that wasn't always the case. Before his father died, before his life turned to shit, he had been all of that and more. He befriended everyone in his Kindergarten, First and Second grade classes. He participated in everything: clean-up duty after school, handing out papers in class, helping other classmates with their works, sharing his lunch with friends. Everyone had adored little Daryl. And everyone who adored him saw the dramatic change in his personality the weeks following his father's untimely death. He went from being this smart, funny, and sweet little boy, to isolated, cold, and bitter. Many concerned peers and teachers tried to talk to him, but he turned his back away from them. He didn't need any of their assistance. He was never used to being the one to _ask_ for help. He had spent his remaining school years in solitude. That was eight years ago.

"Oh," was the weak reply. Connor sensed the exasperation radiating from the darker-haired boy and decided to drop the subject.

A moment of silence passed between the two. Connor, not being able to stand situations such as this, got up from the chair and made his way to the door. "I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat. Do you want anything?"

Daryl realized how hungry he was after hearing the blonde's question. He was too shy to accept so he shook his head. Unfortunately, his stomach had a different idea and growled loudly.

"Uh-huh. So what'll it be?" Connor smirked at the flustered boy trying to cover the growl up with a cough.

"I don't want anything," Daryl exclaimed, avoiding his amused gaze. He felt a blush becoming apparent on his cheeks.

"Daryl… I'm not leaving until you tell me what you want."

"I'm not hungry," he repeated, with a bit of a childish whine this time.

"Bullshit you aren't. Should I talk to your stomach then? Hello, Daryl's stomach. What would you like to eat?"

"My god, you're annoying. Just get me whatever." Daryl finally said, shooting the blond a sharp leer. He was unused to having people actually give a damn for what he wanted, always having been told what to do with no one to listen to him except for his dog Shadow, who was now gone.

Connor gave a comical bow. "As you wish, your Highness." He left the room with a slight skip in his step.

Now that Daryl had was all alone, he was able to think clearly without that annoying boy to distract him. He weighed his options carefully. He didn't know who these people were, and yet they let him into their homes with open arms. They were either that stupid, or up to something. They were able to provide him with daily necessities that he wouldn't have gotten back at his apartment. Just the thought of being a burden to them plagued his mind. He's fended for himself all of these years. He doesn't need some other guy to take care of him like he's some defenseless pet. Right, he was going to leave this place as soon as possible.

Something in the back of his head troubled him. Where was he to go? He'd be like an abandoned dog walking the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back. He shook the thought away. He was familiar with New York. He'd be able to find somewhere to stay sooner or later. Maybe even stay at Merle's …

A chill ran through his spine at the thought of the name. Merle was a drug dealer that he had helped save from being shot in a gang fight a year ago. He just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

_The skinhead was outnumbered three to one- one of his tormentors bearing a pistol, and circled him like hunting a prey. Daryl had been out scrounging for his dinner when he found them making a ruckus in a spacious alleyway. He knew better than to get involved in a gang fight, yet something told him that he had to help this man out. When he saw that the man was at a clear disadvantage, Daryl snuck up carefully behind the pistol bearer and knocked him out cold with a blow to the temple. Everything seemed to unfold smoothly after that. _

_He had picked up the pistol and brought it down on the nearest thug's head while the victim pounced on the one closest to him. The fight only lasted for about a minute or so, but it felt longer, much longer than that. He could recollect the way his heart beat rapidly against his chest, pumping pure adrenaline into his system. Although he had the gun, he didn't possess the will to shoot anyone with it. He remembered seeing the thug's tan, chiseled face that was covered with a short black beard; send him a look of rage and confusion before lunging at him. The thug, like the skinhead, was about a decade older than him, and was clearly stronger. He had Daryl pinned on the wet concrete as he pummeled the younger boy's body in with his fists relentlessly. Daryl felt the air rush out of his lungs and the pain course through his abdomen. He was close to spitting out blood when his attacker was tackled off of him by the brawny skinhead. The gang members were left naked and locked in a nearby dumpster in the aftermath of the events. What happened next was history. _

Not only did Merle sell drugs, he was also a complete heroin junkie, Daryl soon found out. There was not one moment that he had shared with him when Merle was sober. Daryl had tried to stay away from him, himself being against hard drugs, only smoking cigarettes. Though he did share a close friendship with the man, leaning everything there was to know about drug dealing and where to find the best drugs. It was through Merle that he had tried his very first bong hit and spent the rest of the evening high as a bird. Daryl didn't try to smoke weed very often. It did help with his beatings from his mother. Only when the suicidal thoughts arose did he ever light up a joint and stay cooped up in his bedroom, longing for some feast that was never going to come.

He remembered the phrase Merle had kept repeating after the gang fight.

"_I owe you my life man. You can always ask me for anything, and if it's within my reach, I'll give it to you, free of charge." _Boy, did he feel like a hero.

_I will use him as my last resort if I can't find anywhere else to go, _Daryl finally concluded, letting his mind relax. If only he had made more friends.

A couple of minutes passed and Connor finally returned with arms full of chips and junk food, holding two plates with what appeared to be sandwiches. He wobbled on over to the desk and set the plates down and tossed the bags of chips onto Daryl's lap. He let out a large sigh and sat himself down onto the rolling chair.

"Alright, so I made us a turkey with Swiss, lettuce, and tomato on whole wheat bread. Sorry if you don't like whole wheat. It's all we have." He passed one of the plates to Daryl, who took it carefully. "Didn't know what you like to drink so I just got you a Coke."

Daryl took the sandwich with both hands and looked at it carefully.

"Don't worry. I didn't put drugs in it or anything, you can trust me. I'll even switch with you if you want." Connor kidded, reaching for the plate.

"Not necessary." The dark-haired boy took a bite out of the sandwich and was met by a delicious flavour that filled his mouth. He chewed slowly, making sure to savour every crunch of the tasty snack. He hadn't had something this good in ages. His eyes wandered on over to Connor's, who was observing him. When their eyes met, he stopped chewing. "What?"

"Do you like it?" was the reply.

He shrugged. "It's alright, I guess."

"Bullshit! Your face had that orgasmic look to it when you took a bite! Don't lie, you love it!"

"If you knew, then why do you have to ask?" Daryl retorted, raising an eyebrow in question.

That made Connor shut up. "Just wanted you to admit it. No need to be a sourpuss," he mumbled and ate his sandwich with a pout.

* * *

A/N: End of Chapter 2 :) I hope you guys liked it. I know I'm taking it slow right now. But I want to develop it carefully and not just rush to the Flandus/ConnxDaryl bit. :) Don't worry, though. It'll get better (I think.)

ReviewReviewReviewww~! 3


	3. That Saved a Wretch Like Me

**EDIT AS OF AUGUST 12, 2012: OH MY GOD. HOLY CRAP. I did not know that the submission didn't go through! This was supposed to be up AGES ago! OTLL"" I am SOOOOO sorry you guys! FUUUCCCK! I literally submitted this in the beginning of July.**

**Excuse me as I cry. **

**A/N: Hi everyone! I would like to apologise for the lack of updates OTL"" I started Supernatural and I got really obsessed with it (I still am.) So that kind of had an effect on my interest of this story. Don't worry, I'll do my best to not abandon this. **

**So to make up for my long absence, I made this chapter super long (9,550 words. WHAAT?) **

**Lots of angst. Lots of things not making any sense. I don't know. I'm tired. **

**Chapter 3: That saved a wretch like me**

They had devoured their meals whilst listening to soft rock and roll music that was playing through the small speakers of Connor's computer. Not a word was exchanged between the two as they ate, yet it was apparent that both were appreciative of each other's presence.

Daryl felt as if he had consumed a meal fit for kings as he leaned against the mountain of pillows that the older of the two had stacked behind his head for support. He downed the soft drink slowly and let out a large burp followed by a sigh of content. He hadn't eaten something this good for what seemed to be an eternity.

Connor had finished his sandwich ages ago and was currently going through a bag of chips when he heard Daryl's burp. He let out a chuckle and set down the bag. "All done there, your Highness?"

Daryl wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Just about." When he saw that Connor was going to grab his plate, he lurched forward and waved his hand away. "No, it's okay. I got it."

"No, just lay back down and rest. It's fine," Connor assured him, reaching for it again.

He held the plate away from his grasp and tilted his body so the blond wouldn't be able to reach. "Dude, I have a concussion. I'm not a fucking cripple. I can put my own damn dish away."

Connor held his up hands in defense, dejected that the jovial atmosphere seemed to have evaporated. "Alright, man. I'm just trying to be a polite host. If you wanna get up so bad, be my guest. Though I don't think it's such a smart idea."

"I can do it. Watch me," the brunet muttered darkly and hoisted himself up. The sudden change of pressure had caused dark spots to swirl in front of his eyes, and he was met by a splitting headache. He bit his lip to keep from crying out and held onto the plate tightly, afraid of dropping it on the plush carpet. A wave of exhaustion washed over him and his knees buckled. He would have fallen, had it not been for Connor's arms grabbing him holding him up.

"Careful," the blond warned, gritting his teeth as he carried Daryl's dead weight. "As much as you want to get the grand tour of my apartment, I think you'll have to wait until you're fully recovered."

A spark of anger ignited in the pit of his stomach. He hated feeling so weak, so defenseless. He had never adjusted to the thought of others worrying about him. Before he could retaliate, the headache grew worse and turned into nausea.

"Bathroom-," he squeaked before lurching over and clamping a hand over his mouth, heaving drily.

Daryl's sudden movement nearly caused Connor to drop him, but the blond held on tightly, letting out a surprise grunt.

"Here, hold on." He dragged the poor boy to a door Daryl hadn't noticed before. It was right behind the rolling chair, where Connor had sat. The blond thought about carrying him bridal style, were it not for the possibility of having the brunet puke all over him. Plus it didn't really synch with his heterosexual vibes.

It only took about a minute until Daryl had emptied out all of his lunch into the porcelain bowl. Connor didn't hesitate to crouch beside him and rub his back soothingly as if he'd experienced this numerous times before. The younger boy would have swatted his hand away, but he was too distracted by the inside of toilet to do so.

"And this is why you don't pretend to be Mr. Tough Guy." He heard him say in a reprimanding tone.

Daryl could only offer a middle finger in return.

Once he was done- mouth rinsed out, toilet flushed, eyes watery- Connor had commanded for him to get back on the bed and rest. "I don't give a shit if you're Jesus Christ himself, you're not getting up from there until you're all better."

"Alright, _mom_." He muttered darkly. Saying that, however, made him think about his own mother back at the dismal apartment. He thought about how she would call for him to "get his worthless ass out of bed and steal some breakfast from the convenience store."

_She probably didn't even notice. Not that she ever did before._

The bitter thought only made him feel even worse. He sunk into the bed lower and tried to concentrate on going back to sleep. He wasn't even sure why he was following the prep's orders anyways, but one thing's for sure: sleep sounded like heaven right about now.

Connor had snuck away from the room to put the plates away and fetch Daryl some ginger ale for his stomach. He knew that the reason why the younger had disposed of his stomach contents was because of his concussion. He shook his head solemnly at the brunet's ignorance and hard-headedness. _He'll change. _

Within a couple of minutes, Daryl was teetering on the verge of sleep. His eyes felt like two anvils were tied to them as they closed shut, his body relaxing like he had been slipped some sedative. With his mind empty, eyes closed, and his body relaxed, he would have fallen into unconsciousness, when—

_RIIING. VVVBTT. RIIIINGG. VVVBTT. RIIIIIINGGG. VVVBBTT._

His eyes snapped open, a touch of redness hinting at the corners of the whites. In the midst of disorientation, he eyed the vibrating iPhone on Connor's desk with malicious intent. The spark of anger had grown into a full-blown inferno. _Of all the fucking times for someone to call…_ Disregarding logic and politeness, he swiped at the phone, not even bothering to see who it was, and screamed into the receiver,

"What the fuck do you want?"

There was silence on the other line as the caller attempted to recollect themselves from the sudden hostility.

"_Who is this?"_ they finally answered. It was a girl, no doubt from her soprano voice mixed with a valley girl accent.

"David Fucking Hasslehoff! Does it matter? I'm trying to get some damn sleep here."

"_What are you doing with Connor's phone? Did you steal it from him? Where is he? I'm calling the cops!" _

Daryl was only getting more and more aggravated by the minute. He hated talking to this girl, whoever she may be. The only thing he wanted was to be at peace and sleep. He had to end it before things took a major turn for the worst.

"Sure, do whatever the fuck you want, princess. Just leave me the hell alone."

Before the girl could say anything more, Daryl had hung up and tossed the phone back on the wooden desk.

He was about ready to go to rest again, when Connor emerged from the door with his happy-go-lucky smile, holding a can of Ginger Ale.

_Fucking great._

"Hey, how are ya feeling?"

"Just fucking peachy. I just threw up my stomach a few minutes ago, and of course, people are keeping me from my sleep." Daryl spat, hoping the blond would take a hint. He looked irritable, considering murder.

A crestfallen look had wiped the smile off the blonde's face, but it returned after a second. "Oh, right. Well, _oof-" _

Before Daryl could even manage a blink, a large, brown blur came up from the front of the bed and onto his lap. It took him by surprise and he let out a gasp. The thing had was now attacking his face and covering it with… saliva?

"Donut, down, girl!" Connor commanded fruitlessly, but the licking wouldn't stop.

He eyed whatever Connor was talking to, only to find out that it was a dog. It was a mix of a ridgeback, mastiff, boxer, and a pit-bull. The dog's sudden presence had knocked the desire of sleep right from his body. His heart was beating too hard from the attack to think about resting. He wrapped both of his arms around the large animal and began to pet its honey coloured fur, letting out a hearty laugh.

Connor was debating on hauling the dog off of the poor boy, when the sound of laughter filled his ears. He stopped dead in his tracks and admired the sight in front of him- Daryl, his eyes shining with delight as he was pinned onto the bed by the mongrel. It was the first time he had witnessed the teen display something besides bitterness, and he was absolutely star struck by it. His lips curved to a small grin as he made his way over to the rolling chair.

"Looks like she's taken a liking to you," he observed as Daryl continued to play with the dog. "Sorry she jumped you like that. She's friendly with everyone. She loves meeting new people."

Donut was now on her back with her tongue lolling out, enjoying Daryl's big hand on her stomach as he rubbed it affectionately.

The dog's familiar personality had opened the gate which flooded Daryl's mind with memories of his old faithful companion Shadow. Shadow, who was now gone.

_Because of her._

He dropped his arms and sat still, like a marble Roman statue on display.

Shadow used to be the only living memory of his father. They had first met when the little pup trotted into their apartment on the day of Daryl's seventh birthday with a big red bow attached to his collar. Daryl had been longing for a pet ever since he had first set eyes on a dog. He had mentioned wanting to own a pet very rarely to his parents, but they could tell that just how much the little boy wanted a dog.

On the winter of 2002, the happiness and excitement that came from the little boy who lived in a small apartment complex in New York City radiated from its shuttered windows.

Shadow was a little ball of energy, playing with everyone and everything in sight. Right off the bat, he had developed a strong relationship with Daryl, for he was the first one the little pit-bull ran up to greet and pounce on. They had decided on the name as the pup nuzzled his small, wet nose against Daryl's cheek affectionately, tired after many long hours of playing with his new owner. His fur was as dark as winter night. Short and sleek, it shone like the moon's reflection over a still lake. Everywhere Daryl went, the pup followed, like a shadow.

It was Shadow who had been there during Daryl's times of crisis. The boy confided everything to the dog, and the dog listened intently. Whether it was venting about being forced to eat vegetables, or talking about his classmates. It was Shadow who consoled and rubbed his dark head into Daryl's hand after his father's untimely death, as if to say, "I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm always here for you."

He bit back the bitter tears that were threatening to fall, and turned his head away so the blond wasn't able to see how weak and pathetic he really was.

"_You're weak and pathetic, just like your father!"_

His heart felt as if it had been thrown under a road roller. It hurt to remember. It wasn't doing him any good ripping up the stitches he had desperately tried to sew over his past.

"Do you have any pets?"

Connor's voice broke through his reverie and brought him back to the blue bedroom where the blond waited eagerly for his reply.

He shook his head. _The less he knew about me, the better._ He felt Donut nudge his hand with her nose, urging him to resume his petting.

"She was a rescue, actually. My mom has a soft spot for those kinds of things. Like every time that Sarah McLachlan commercial would come on, she'd either start bawling or she has to leave the room. One day, she came home with this little princess. 'Said that this lady at her job told her that she was gonna be put down if no one adopted her. So now here we are."

Daryl smiled understandingly. His mom used to be the same way.

_Used to._

"Your mom sounds like a great woman."

The blond sat taken aback at the sudden compliment. He recovered within a few seconds and agreed. "Yeah, she is."

He eyed Connor's expression. The way his eyebrows contorted to a pained expression informed him of just how much Connor was aching to ask about Daryl's own family, about Daryl's life. But how much he had kept his lips shut and swallowed back his curiosity earned him some respect from the brunet.

Before he could crack, he had already changed the subject.

"Your phone kept me from sleeping. Some bitch called askin' for you." He had reverted back to his bitter self. He didn't want the blond thinking that he had a shot of being best friends with him just because Daryl had shown a hint of kindness.

"Was it my mom?" Alarm flashed in the oceanic orbs.

"No, it sounded too high-pitched to be a woman's voice. It was a girl. Nearly broke my eardrums listening to her."

"Oh." Connor's expression changed from concerned to something Daryl was certain he'd never see appear on the blonde's face. It was as if all of life had drained away from him. He looked somber, dead. And this worried the younger teen for some unknown reason.

"Friend of yours? Crazy ex, maybe?"

No matter how much Connor tried to cover it up, he could still see right through his façade. Whoever she may be, if just the mention of her could change Connor completely, she must be bad news.

"You could say she's a friend of mine," he muttered, leaning back on the chair and picking up his phone. He said it in such a monotonous way, like an automated machine.

"She seemed a bit too clingy to be _just _a friend. What is she, your girlfriend?" He knew he was being intrusive, but something in him wanted Connor to change back into his old, annoying self. This empty shell had terrified him.

"No, well…" Before he could finish, Daryl felt Donut's figure tense as she sat up on the bed and began to emit a low, threatening growl. Moments later, the pair heard the front door slam and Donut erupted into a barking fit. Her cries filled the whole apartment, gradually increasing in volume.

"Connor?" came a voice a few feet from the bedroom. "Connie, you home?"

It sounded familiar with its' high-pitched tone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

"Yeah, I'm in my room, Beck," Connor called out, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm that surprised the brunet.

"Speak of the devil…" he muttered darkly under his breath just as a girl a few years younger than Connor emerged from the hallway.

She was stick-thin, far skinnier than what he would consider neither healthy nor attractive. A dark blue beret sat on her platinum blonde hair, matching the colour of her eyes. A long, black and white checkered pea coat attempted to hide the smallness of her figure. It was something similar to what Daryl would see prissy rich people wearing whenever he ended up taking a stroll through Manhattan. Her pixie face was packed with layers of makeup so pale she almost seemed to glow. A pair of tall, black leather boots covered her legs entirely, reaching up to her knees. Her attire looked original, and pretty damn expensive.

As soon as she stepped in, her eyes met Daryl's and a spark traveled between them that let the other one know of their immediate dislike. It was something that the third individual in the room had failed to notice.

"Connie, I missed you at school today. What happened?"

"Sorry, Becki. It's just that…" his eyes flickered over to Daryl's face, then back to the girl's. "… my friend decided to drop in last night and surprise me. He was my childhood friend back in Texas. I really should have called you and let you know, but Daryl and I had a lot of catching up to do. Time kinda just flew by."

"Oh…" came the response. Inside his head, Daryl was applauding Connor for his ability to think quickly on his feet. Although from the way one of her eyebrows was raised slightly, both boys could still see that she was suspicious. "What's wrong with his head?"

"We went for a run this morning and I slipped on some ice," intervened Daryl. He was growing tired of being a piece of furniture in the room. His calloused hands glided smoothly down Donut's back in an attempt to silence her from barking, but it did no justice.

"And you really needed a bandage for it? A pack of ice didn't suffice?"

He clenched his teeth, grinding them through closed lips. "I fell pretty hard. Got myself a concussion."

"I see." Her tone still held some suspicion, though Daryl could tell she didn't care as much to press on further. "Connor, will you shut that dog up? It's getting on my nerves."

The crystal blue orbs widened at the harsh command. He shot the look of disbelief at Connor, as if to say: _Is she fucking serious? _Yet he only received a blank, empty stare in return. It held the same lifeless look that he tried so hard to hide.

"Right." He sighed tiredly and propped himself up of the rolling chair. "Come on, Donut."

Daryl watched as the two left the room, noticing how Connor looked like a beaten puppy, the way his shoulders drooped as he disappeared from view. His gaze switched to Becki, holding disgust.

"How much did you have to pay him to let you whip him around like that?"

She folded her arms over her chest, her lips tightening to a sneer. "Shut up, you filthy rat. Tell me who you really are."

Daryl shrugged. "I don't know what you mean. Like Connor said, we're old friends." _Boy, that felt awkward to say. _

The girl took the door and closed it shut before making her way to the rolling chair that Connor had vacated. "Don't play dumb with me, okay? I know all of Connor's friends and he's never mentioned you before."

"Who are you, Connor's biggest fan?"

"Don't change the subject."

He chewed lightly at his fingernail, an old habit he's developed ever since he was young. He did this when he was nervous or when he found things interesting. "Well, it _has_ been a long time since I saw him. People tend to forget when they haven't seen someone for that duration."

"Not Connor. He has the best memory out there. And I _know_ that he would have called me last night."

"I guess I'm just more important than you, princess." A sharp sound of skin hitting skin reverberated within the confines of the room. A few seconds later, Daryl felt a dumbing sting on his right cheek as he stared at Becki with a stunned look etched on his face. His hand moved up to ease the throbbing area.

Becki had leaned over the chair and was now breathing heavily with a flushed face. Her nose was scrunched up and flaring, her eyebrows arching deeply into her eyes. She looked like a demon.

"Quit your lying, you plebeian! I've had enough of this nonsense. Connor is _mine_. You better stay away from him! Don't you dare infect him with your immoral motives."

_Believe me, getting away from him is the first thing I plan on doing._

As he recovered from the shock, his mouth twisted into a gut-wrenching smile. He didn't know what made him do it, but it suited the current situation so he went along with it. Plus seeing Becki angry was hilarious.

"And what if I don't, hm? What are you gonna do about it, bitch?"

The sudden change in Daryl's expression caught the blonde off guard. He could sense that Becki was frightened of it too, the way her lips trembled and how she averted her eyes to look at her fingernails. But before she could respond, Daryl had straightened himself up and reached over for the ginger ale that Connor had left beside him.

"You know, if he really did care about you, why would he lie to you? Better yet, why couldn't he have called you and told you he wasn't coming to school today?

"You're just a little plaything to him. A sex toy. That's what all men want in life. He could give a rat's ass about your feelings." The soda slid roughly down his parched throat with a fizz, emitting a soft sigh of satisfaction from the brunet. He really could care less about this girl's relationship with Connor. But he had to entertain himself one way or another, right?

"Y-You're wrong. You don't know Connor like I do." Her pixie face was now clouded with doubt. A small hand reached up to her chest and began to fidget with the silver necklace that hung there.

"Of course I do," he mused. "I _am_ his childhood friend, after all. I've known him for far longer than you have. When did he meet you? Like a year ago? And you think you know so much about him? Let me tell ya. You don't. You can't know everything about a person. No matter how much you care for them, no matter how long you've known them for. They always have secrets." Lies. All lies. Maybe he was taking it a bit too far. The guy goes out of his way to save his life, and he makes it up to him by injecting seeds of doubt into his girlfriend's mind. Or whatever she is.

Becki raised her hand for another slap, her lips quivering, but before she could bring it down, Daryl caught her wrist and held on it firmly.

"Uh-uh," he warned, shaking his head, "Now, you wouldn't want me smacking your expensive make up off your face, would you?"

"You wouldn't dare hit a girl!" She cried, wrenching her hand away from his grip.

"Try me." She was right. Daryl would never lay a finger on her, nor any other girl. But he couldn't let her know that.

The sound of footsteps outside had culminated their little discussion, and the two quickly reverted into more friendly positions. Becki shifted the rolling chair closer to Daryl and he relaxed into the pillows.

"Hey guys. Sorry I took so long. Had a tough time trying to get Donut away from my room. Guess she really likes you, Dar. She was whining and kept pulling me back here." Connor walked in, looking a little flustered. "At least you two had the time to get to know each other, right?" He flashed Daryl a questioning look, which the brunet returned with a reassuring one of his own.

"Oh, Connie-bear! Daryl and I had a wonderful chat. He is so charming." Becki cried, almost too enthusiastically.

Daryl suppressed the urge to vomit again, hearing the last sentence. He didn't know which was worse- having her call the blond "Connie-bear" or her call him "charming." He took another sip from the can and agreed, "Yeah… Becki's …awesome." Correction: _that_made him want to vomit.

She got up from the chair and threw her arms around Connor, pressing herself against him and pulling him in a deep kiss.

The brunet let out an aggravated sigh. _Insecure bitch. _Though he was glad that all of his lying didn't go to waste.

There was a slight hesitation in the blond as the kiss caught him off-guard. He regained his composure, however, when he felt Becki's delicate fingers comb through his hair.

After watching the couple suck face for nearly a minute, Daryl lost his patience and cleared his throat obnoxiously.

His alerted presence startled the older teen and caused him to detach from Becki's lips. "Oh, sorry, man."

"Get a room," was all he said, though it came out colder than he had intended. He was yet to accept the fact that watching them make out did strike some interest in him. He failed to notice, however, that his eyes were set on the boy the whole time.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," agreed Becki, taking a step back to fix her crooked beret. "Let's go get some hot chocolate or something."

"But-," Connor began, looking at Daryl for support.

The brunet could tell he wanted to stay at the apartment and talk to him some more, but one could only handle so much attention in one day. Especially if that someone was unfamiliar with receiving any form of attention.

"Nah, you go right ahead, man. I still need to catch up on some sleep anyways."

With his blessing, Becki had pulled Connor out of the room, ignoring his protests, and they were gone.

Daryl sunk deeper into the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chin, letting out a sigh of relief. The two were kind enough to turn off the lights as they had departed, to spare him the trouble of getting up. Finally, he was alone. He seized a few minutes to reflect back on his actions.

He didn't feel bad about the things he had said to her. He was too familiar with her kind of people. Money, popularity, and success. Those were the three things girls of her age and her status looked for in a man. And Connor seemed to fit all three categories. He seemed smart. To be able to think of a good lie like that off the top of his head, he must have had a brain. With his personality and outgoing attitude, he looked to be someone who was popular in school. As for money, well, not everyone has a cleaning lady that comes every Wednesday, now do they?

No, he didn't feel bad. And the way Connor's face had looked ninety per cent of the time he was with Becki showed that he didn't return her feelings; no matter how much he tried to mask it. It's fine if they break up. It's not doing any harm to anyone. Except to Becki- who deserved it.

With his conscience clear of any guilt, reaching sleep had turned out to be easier than he thought.

This time, Daryl dreamt.

_He was back on the bridge, with the same setting all around him. The world through his eyes seemed a bit gloomier. It looked post-apocalyptic, though the buildings and the structures were still intact. The sky was tinted into a dark grey hue, and the sun remained nested just below the horizon, with the same luminosity as a flashlight. Daryl didn't feel the coldness he did that morning, but he wore the same heavy brown jacket and the same faded jeans. _

_ He stood on the platform, feeling calm and collected. It was then he noticed that he was holding onto something. Looking at it, he saw that it was Connor's hand, and right beside him was Connor himself. The blond had a serene look on his face. His eyes held the same vacant expression, but Daryl didn't feel scared by it this time._

_ Connor had formed something in his lips, but it came out in a whisper. _

_ "What was that?" Daryl asked._

_ "Save me." _

_ He heard a high-pitched laugh. Daryl turned around and saw the shock of platinum blonde hair and the blue beret. Only this time, the girl didn't have Becki's face. He wasn't even sure if it was a girl at all. The thing had a witch's face and its smile nearly splitting its lips and chin in half. _

_ "I told you to stay away from my Connie, you filthy rat!" the thing said, drawing up her hands that had long, curving fingernails. _

_ "Daryl, look out!" he heard Connor yell before he felt the witch's hands come in contact with his body and he was pushed off of the bridge. _

_ This time, he saw no flashbacks, no memories. He only saw the crashing of the water against the rusty foundation of the bridge. And Connor. _

_Wait… what? _

_ "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" he screamed at the blond, who had kept a tranquil expression. _

_ "I told you I was going to come after you if you jumped," he said with a smile. _

_ "Is- is it gonna hurt?" _

_ "No, not while I'm here." Connor had reached out and enveloped him into an embrace. "It's okay, just relax. It'll all be over soon." _

_ Daryl closed his eyes, relaxing his body for the deadly impact. The same thought ran through his head as it did when he nearly fell that morning. He didn't want to die. How could that blonde bitch push him off without a second thought? As he fell, he realised that he was far calmer than before. Not because he was about to stare Death in the face once again, but because he wasn't alone this time._

_It was then he felt something on his lips. He opened them slightly and saw that it was Connor. Connor was kissing him. For some reason, he couldn't pull away. He didn't _want_ to pull away. They remained that position until they had submerged into the freezing depths of the water below. _

Daryl woke with a start, sitting up straight and breathing heavily. He was drenched in sweat, his bangs stuck to his forehead as if he had taken a shower. The white shirt that Connor loaned him clung onto his body like a second skin.

_What the hell was that?_

He attempted to wipe the sweat off of his brow with his arm, carefully avoiding the bandages. After pondering about the nightmare for a few minutes, he had come to the conclusion that it was because of what he had seen earlier- Connor and Becki kissing. Not because he had feelings for Connor. No way. _How disgusting. _

The sound of the door rattling had caused him to jump. He turned to the bathroom door and looked for a weapon he could use to hit the intruder. Still in his disoriented state, he had thrown away the possibility of the person being either Connor or his mother, and was surprised to see that it was in fact, the blond.

Connor emerged, letting a large amount of steam escape from the bathroom. A towel was wrapped around the lower half of his body, exposing his well-toned stomach. He was currently whistling a tune to "Eye of the Tiger," but he stopped when he saw Daryl in his freaked out state, reaching for god knows what.

"Whoa. You looked like you'd just seen a ghost. What's up?"

Daryl waited for the adrenaline to stop before he could form a coherent thought. What appeared in his head, however, was the sight of Connor kissing him. And that caused him to blush profusely. "I-uh… no, it's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing. Did I scare you?"

_Oh, you don't know the half of it. _He shook his head. "I-I just had a bad dream, that's all. Must've been from your shitty sandwich."

Connor smirked, throwing the towel at his face as he made his way into the closet. "Hey, I heard the sounds you made. You loved my sandwich. Besides, you puked it out anyways. Which really isn't boosting my self-esteem, but at least I know it didn't give you nightmares."

The brunet was thankful that the towel had spared him from seeing Connor's naked form walking around. He waited until he was certain the older teen had put on clothes before removing it from his head. "Whatever makes you feel any better, dude."

Connor chuckled, closing the closet door wearing a grey tee and black Adidas sweatpants. His wet hair was a shade darker and stood out in random directions like before. "What was the nightmare about, anyways?"

He felt his heart start to beat hard against his chest. His hand made its way into his mouth and he began to chew on his index fingernail. "It was nothing."

"Aw, no you can't do that to me. You've got me all interested." He ran his hand over his hair and swiped it over a few times, letting some of the excess water fall from his head. Connor had now positioned himself at the foot of the bed and looked at him eagerly.

Daryl let out a scoff. "You're so weird… Fine… I dreamt that your girlfriend was a witch and she pushed me off the bridge." He left it at that. That was all Connor needed to know.

That was all Connor _had_ to know. The blond turned his body away from Daryl, his head hanging low.

The fear of having the blond revert back to that robot flowed like liquid ice through his veins. It made him want to take back what he had said and assure him that it was just a joke.

"Hey," he began, but stopped when he saw that Connor's shoulders were shaking. He then heard the airy chuckles and snorts. _The fucker was laughing!_

"Hahah, you-you dreamt _what? _Oh my god, hahaha! That is hilarious. What did she look like? Describe it."

"No. I'm not telling you."

"Haha, no! Daryl, please. This is awesome. C'mon, humour me." _Well, it sure beats his lifeless self. _

"She… she had the same clothes she was wearing today. Except she had a witch's face. Oh, and she had an old lady's hands, and she had long, weird ass fingernails." To emphasize, Daryl contorted his face into a weird facial expression, and crooked his fingers to imitate claws.

There was a loud snort and Connor burst into hysterics, falling back on the bed, his belly hitching. "Hahah, oh my god, my sides! You're killing me, Daryl."

Daryl couldn't help but smile at the blond. Soon, he saw tears pouring out of the sides of his eyes. _Was it really that funny?_ He had never made anyone laugh this hard before. And it felt… good. He basked in the feeling for a few more seconds, and then asked, "Speaking of which, how did your little _date_ go anyway?" He wasn't really curious about what they did, more like what they talked about. Something in his gut told him that Becki wasn't going to let the "he doesn't care about you" statement drop.

Having been asked what seemed to be a serious question, which is more surprising that it came from Daryl, Connor sobered up, abruptly cutting off his laughing fit. The eye-crinkling smile that defined his face was wiped off and replaced by a more somber look.

Daryl shifted on the bed, drawing his legs closer to his body and crossing them. _Shit. _Did he say something wrong?

Much to his relief, Connor sat up on the bed and gave him a nonchalant shrug. "It was alright. She must have bought the whole 'childhood friend' thing. She must've really liked you because she kept asking these questions. Like about how we met and all that."

Like _isn't exactly the word I would have used. _

"Oh. What did you say?" Something inside him had cautioned him to stop throwing Connor a bone. He waved it off, convincing himself that he was genuinely curious as to what clever response Connor came up with.

"Well, I said that we grew up in the same neighbourhood and we went to the same school together. We spent most of our time together, and that we were practically brothers. You know… until I moved and we lost touch. Our parents kept talking, though. And your mom got a job offer here, found my family's address, and rented an apartment close by."

It took a moment for Daryl to realize that his mouth was hanging slightly ajar. It would be an understatement to say that he was stunned. He was more than stunned. Either Connor had made up a fake story about them the moment they first met, or he's the best liar in all of New York.

The blond took the silence as a bad sign and looked at him with a concerned face, sitting up slowly. "Does it sound bad? She looked like she bought it though. Maybe I should have thought of a better lie…"

Daryl shook his head profusely. "No! No, no it sounds… _really _believable. It's scary, actually. And you came up with it on the spot?"

The eye crinkling smile returned, followed by a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I thought about some of it when I left to take Donut out, and also on the way to the coffee shop. She kinda looked alarmed for a moment, though. Then she started bringing up if I had anything else I was hiding from her. Afterwards, she just got weirder and asked questions like if I really loved her. That whole thing was a buzzkill so I had to end it early."

He didn't know whether to give himself a congratulatory pat on the back for successfully getting to her head, or feel slightly guilty for ruining their date. _Wait, what am I thinking? Why do I give a shit if they didn't enjoy their stupid date? _He decided to celebrate his victory, hiding a smirk from the blond. "Yeah, that sounds super weird."

"Right? I mean, I know she might come off as clingy sometimes, but this just takes the cake. Did she seem a bit off to you when you guys were talking?" Connor eyed Daryl with such an unsuspecting stare that it almost made the brunet take back what he had thought about him being intelligent.

"Hm? No, not really. I mean, besides the fact that she was radiating with clinginess and she looks like a crazy girlfriend. No offence. Other than that, I don't really know a lot about her to say that she was 'acting off.'" He stopped and waited for the older teen's reaction. Daryl wasn't a professional liar like Connor, but he wasn't an amateur either. He had his fair deal of lying in the past.

"Really," Connor mused, appearing to be deep in thought. "Must be that time of the month again, then. Women, am I right?" He shook his head and smiled. "Enough about that. Are you hungry? I bought some chicken and mac and cheese on my way back. We can just heat them up in the microwave. It's been a couple of hours since you last ate. Does your head feel a bit better now? Or do you want me to bring them here?"

Daryl shook his head. "Yeah, I'm starving. Sleeping really helped clear the headaches and the nausea. I think I'll be able to get up without any trouble." To prove himself, he swiveled his body to the edge of the bed and pushed himself up carefully. Although the stars returned, he was able to keep himself upright this time.

Connor, afraid that his friend would collapse again, jumped up and rushed to his side. He threw one arm around Daryl and held the other a few inches off his stomach. Almost immediately, he felt the brunet stiffen under his touch and was pushed away.

"I got it!" Daryl cried, breathing heavily. He felt light in the head, but it wasn't from the concussion. His heart picked up its pace, rapidly beating against his chest, threatening to break free. A flash of hurt was plain as day on the blonde's blue eyes. It was something that he chose to ignore; walking towards the bedroom door, the remnants of his dream still plagued his thoughts.

"Alright, sheesh," he muttered, pain and confusion evident on his face. Earlier on in the day, Daryl's action wouldn't have surprised him. However, after the moment he just shared with him that involved no bitter remarks, with the exception of the rude comment about his sandwich making abilities, he had thought that the brunet was finally getting comfortable with him. _There's only one way to find out for sure. _

For a New York apartment, the whole place seemed like a mansion. Daryl waited until they walked down the white washed hallway before eliciting an inaudible gasp. Like any other apartment, everything was conjoined, with no partition separating the rooms. The only kinds of separator were two wooden pillars that stood equidistant from each other in the middle of the room. Straight ahead was the living room. A large, angular couch sat a few feet away from the 42" LG Cinema flat screen that hung over a simple, wooden table containing various remote controls for god-knows-what. Two speakers were suspended beside the TV, and two others were placed beside the couch. _Talk about surround sound. _From one of the opened panels of the table, he could see a black x-box 360 in the middle of a shelf of games. An end table was placed on the right side of the couch, holding a porcelain lamp. A plush, brown recliner chair covered by a white blanket faced the small coffee table in front of the couch. On every eligible hard surface stood countless of picture frames containing what appeared to be Connor and his family at certain events and parties.

"The kitchen's right over here," Connor cut in, interrupting Daryl's moment of awe. He made a right turn where the hallway ended, and the brunet followed as if in a daze.

Connor's kitchen had everything someone would see on a television show: a stainless steel refrigerator, a porcelain sink, a large granite island, an oven, a microwave, a microwave _oven_, two stoves, a large countertop, and a row of wooden cabinets that hung above.

"Just sit right there," he told Daryl, motioning towards the barstools that were hidden underneath the island. He flicked a switch that turned on the small lights that dangled overhead the hard surface. They illuminated certain areas of the granite like spotlights.

Daryl could only offer a small sound of understanding as he slid onto the barstool. As he listened to Connor rummaging through the fridge for the food, he turned his body so he could admire the rest of the apartment.

Right behind him was the dining area, which had a long dark maple wood table, and matching cushioned chairs. As if it couldn't get any more fancy, a glass chandelier was suspended up above. To the right was a sliding glass door that led to the familiar metallic balcony that every apartment had. To prevent the polished wood floor from scratching, the tables and the chairs were placed on beige, patterned carpet.

He heard Connor press the buttons on the microwave and his attention was immediately brought back to the blond.

"So, you haven't really said much. Why don't you tell me about yourself, Dar?" Connor was done beating around the bush. He let his curiosity get the better of him and let the question fluidly roll off his tongue.

"Huh?" Daryl was amazed at how straightforward the question was. The rising retort _"Why the fuck should I tell you anything about me?" _was threatening to come up like vomit, but he pressed it down and instead said, "Uh… what do you mean?" It was a stupid thing to ask for the question was clear as day. On one hand, he felt like he needed to give the blond something for saving him and going through all of this trouble for the sake of a suicidal stranger he met on the bridge. But on the other, he didn't want to open up to him. It was something he had resisted ever since he woke up on Connor's bed. The older teen's kindness, however, was making it hard for him to do so.

"You know… like what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?" Connor set a plate with two chicken breasts and a handful of macaroni and cheese in front of Daryl, while standing opposite him with his own plate.

'What the hell. I didn't know I signed up for some speed dating thing," Daryl muttered. He picked up his fork and shoved macaroni into his mouth, avoiding Connor's blue gaze.

Connor's lips tightened into a forced smile, taking a bite out of a chicken leg "Fine, if you don't want to go first, then I will. Hmm… well, I am very interested in martial arts- Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu to be precise. Every day, I like to go out for a morning jog, even when there's thunder and lightning out. I don't know why. It's something I've always enjoyed. It's when I can actually be at peace, as stupid as it sounds. Alright, your turn."

Donut caught whiff of the smell of fried chicken and came padding into the kitchen, tail wagging in frenzy, and a pink tongue lolling out. Connor must have let her out of her cage when he returned from his disaster of a date with Becki.

Daryl took notice of the dog, relieved to find something that could serve as a distraction, and threw her a piece of chicken. Even when he was on the brink of starvation, if he saw a homeless animal wandering the sidewalks, he would always find some kind of food to give to them. After the dog inhaled the large chunk appreciatively, he reached over and petted her head. He heard Connor scoff in what appeared to be annoyance, and his eyebrows rose. He was finally catching a glimpse of an irritated Connor.

"Uh, I don't know. I don't really have many hobbies-" he began in a long drawl, hoping to annoy the blond even more.

"-Alright let's cut the bullshit. What was so bad that you wanted to commit suicide?" That whole, 'easing into it' didn't work out so well. He decided to take a different stance.

And that stance happened to hit a nerve.

He went back to his regular position and stared at Connor straight in the eyes, gaze never wavering. "You know, there's more to life than five star restaurants and parties. There are people who live _really _shitty lives. There are those who don't have time to find leisure in their pathetic existence because they work every single minute of every day. Life isn't an ice cream sundae served with hot fudge and marshmallows, topped off with a cherry. Has it ever occurred to you that people don't get to experience the same luxury you do?" To emphasize, Daryl extended his arm broadly, motioning to the living room.

It was Connor's turn to get caught off guard. A hint of anger was becoming apparent in his eyes. "What, just because my mom's a doctor and my dad's in real estate you think I'm living the good life?"

Daryl threw both hands up in annoyance, making Donut flinch. "That's _exactly _what it is! You've never experienced _anything _I've gone through! You can take your 'Everything will get better' crap and shove it up your ass. 'cause clearly, you don't know shit. Stop pretending to be this new age Ghandi, when you're nothing more than a stupid rolodex watch."

Connor's hand shot out and grabbed Daryl by the hem of his shirt. He pulled the brunet close to him so that their faces were only inches apart. In a low voice, he said, "Don't talk about me like I'm some prissy rich bastard. I'm _nothing _like them." He shoved Daryl back, eyes narrowing, withholding malice. Daryl could see his neck muscles protruding as his entire body tensed. "I practically grew up all alone. My parents were gone for the majority of my life, always busy with their jobs and their stupid parties. They hired nannies to fill in for them. I grew up thinking that it was Daral to live this way- without the proper guidance from your parents. Honestly, the happiest I've ever been were the times that _both _of them were home. And that happened very rarely.

"They give me designer clothes and the latest video game consoles every now and then- and even going as far as buying me expensive watches for when they miss big events in my life. They think that sending me all of this worthless expensive shit is going to compensate for what they've done. For what they _haven't_ done. Don't you _dare_ tell me I don't know shit. Don't you dare treat me like my life is perfect- that I'm living the dream." He was breathing heavily, face slightly flushed. After a few seconds of silence, his facial expression changed from violent rage, to a more vulnerable look. He tore his gaze from Daryl's eyes, observing the design on the countertop. "You know, I've never known what it's like to have a real friend. I've been backstabbed more times than you can imagine. All these 'friends' I have now… they're all the same. They all hope that I would get them into these cool concerts, into these cool parties. They _use _me, like I'm some tool.

"They nod their heads and they pretend to listen, but I know that the only sound going through their minds is the sound of an ATM machine. Let's face it: they don't care what I think. 'Oh, look at this pathetic rich kid blabbing on about an uninteresting subject. I should just agree with whatever he says and put on an enthusiastic face!'" He shook his head, letting out a scoff. "They only care about themselves."

Daryl tried to think of a good response, but his brain was too stunned to conjure up an answer. He just stared at Connor in disbelief- not at what the blond had said, but how he said it. His tone was rich with raw emotion- containing sadness and hatred. He thought back to his dream, where Connor had whispered, 'Save me' before he was pushed off the bridge. The established connection between the two had left him speechless.

"Even when they're not here, my parents expect so much from me. They encourage me-no- they _force _me to join all of these sports teams. They think that I'm such a great athlete that I could easily adapt to these sports that I've never played before. Do you know how hard it is to please someone with such high hopes for you? And when I'm not doing sports, I have to go to these damn clubs because they 'look good on your college resume.' Hell, my schedule is packed with so many advanced classes that I'm killing myself just to keep good grades. They want me to become successful, just like them. Do I get a say in it? No. It's like… it's like my whole future's been decided for me, you know? And I can't do anything about it. I'm only seen as a dollar sign and a stupid puppet." He paused, and then let out a chuckle. "Sometimes I feel like my only true friend in the world is Donut."

As if on cue, the dog barked and trotted up to her owner, nudging her nose into his hands, begging to be petted. Connor complied, running his palm up and down her back, with a subdued smile on his face.

He wasn't sure if it was the food in his stomach, or his well-rested body, but everything that Connor said managed to click into his mind perfectly. He was shocked at just how similar they were. He was shocked that a preppy, energetic kid like him could go through such a terrible life and still manage to keep a smile on his face. "Wh-why are you telling me all of this?" he asked.

"Because," Connor set his elbows down on the counter and cradled his head into his hands. "You shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"You know what? You're right. I _shouldn't _judge a book by its cover." Daryl leaned back against the chair, folding his arms over his chest. "And _you_ shouldn't take things for granted. At least you still have both parents who care about you."

Connor scoffed, his shoulders shaking. "Yeah, that's what it is. _Caring._"

"I mean, would you rather have parents that completely ignore you? Pretend you're nothing but a decoration? Though being a decoration is a bit too generous." Daryl felt as if he was listening to himself talk. He could hear the seeping revulsion crawling into his tone as he thought back to his mother. "My dad died when I was eight years old. _Eight _years old! A fucking perfect age to have someone you love to suddenly disappear from your life forever. I didn't even get a chance to say just how much I loved him. How much he meant in my life." He felt the tears forming in his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away. He didn't care if Connor saw. Hell, he didn't care if the whole world saw.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." He heard the blond say with hesitation.

He shook his head. "Don't. You have nothing to be sorry about. Just save your sympathies. I've heard it all before." He sniffed and wiped his eyes again. "My mom, she… she used to be Daral. She was a sweet, caring mother who loved her family. But something about my father's death changed her. It damaged her sanity. And so this lovable woman changed into this cold… heartless bitch. She quit her job as an art teacher one day, and then started selling her body for money. I found out myself when I was going for a walk one night and I see her with a bunch of other whores waiting to be picked up. She blamed my dad's death on me. She took her anger out on _me_." His voice broke slightly, but he pressed on. "I know you've seen the scars and the bruises, Connor. God knows what you had to tell your mom to cover it up. I'm just like you in a way, I guess. I never had the proper guidance from my parents. Of course, I was lucky to have a Daral life for eight years. But now, sometimes I'm certain that my mother's forgotten that she has a son.

"I had to fend for myself for six years. I stole food, I pickpocketed from unsuspecting people. Just to carry on living. And that's how I grew up. Hell, if I saw you on the street, I wouldn't think twice about robbing you."

Connor smirked and let out a compressed chuckle. "Should I be flattered about this?"

Daryl ignored the question and continued, "She beat me, starved me, broke me, all but killed me. I never ratted her out on anything because, well… I guess a part of me wished that she still had a piece of her old self in that soulless shell of hers." He shrugged. "Like you, I never had any friends either. After my dad's death, I just isolated myself from everyone. I grew tired of the pitying looks and the 'I'm sorry for your loss' bullshit. So what if they're sorry? Apologising ain't gonna bring my dad back." He felt his throat tighten once more, and he had to take a look at Donut to calm himself down. "The only one who ever had my back was my dog Shadow. He… he died a few days ago. My mom killed him. He was the only one that kept me from crumbling. With him gone, I figured there was no other reason to live in my personal Hell." He looked up at Connor, eyes scintillating with unshed tears. "And that's why you saw me at the bridge."

Connor returned it with a sympathetic smile, placing a hand over Daryl's. He threw away the possibility of having it look very gay to a passerby. He could care less if someone walked in at that moment. "Thank you for telling me. I know it must hurt to let it out, but it's the only way you're going to be able to move on. I'm sorry for stepping in when you wanted to jump. I'm sorry that you're stuck with me, even though I know that you must hate me already. But after everything, I don't regret what I did. I'm actually glad I was there instead of someone else. I'm glad that I got to know you. You're… different." Before Daryl could interject, he added, "In a good way, of course."

Daryl let Connor's hand rest on his, trying to read into the blonde's eyes for a hint of deception. When he found none, he slowly inched his hand away, picking up his fork to finish what was left of his macaroni and cheese. With a smile, he said, "Maybe I was wrong. Not all of you rich bastards are bad." He had to give it to Connor. Either he was really stupid for confiding everything into a stranger he just met that morning, or he genuinely trusted Daryl. One thing's for sure, though: the blond had made a mistake. He had reached a dead end with the brunet; because Daryl's mind was still set on leaving that night.

**A/N: Aaaand cut scene! Honestly, I started this chapter a LOOOONG time ago. But like I said, life kept me from working on it. The next chapter will surely include Merle. And lots of brutal stuff. Better change the rating to M. FOR MMMMMEEERRRLEEEEE :UUUU**

**Thank you and I'll see you in a few months!**

**(Reviews always help motivate me :D ) **


End file.
